


Love is (watching someone die)

by armchairpsychologist



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angel Beatrice, Ava being Ava, Beatrice is derived from Beatrix, F/F, Inspired by Music, Sister Francis is Her Own Warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armchairpsychologist/pseuds/armchairpsychologist
Summary: Psalm 91:11"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;"Beatrix is an angel; she has never Fallen.Ava is a human; she does not believe in God, or angels for that matter.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	1. In the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete stylistic experimentation, inspired by other works which have handled the subject far more cleverly than I have.
> 
> I've been inspired by John Milton's Paradise Lost, Dante's Inferno and by some amazing stories:  
> in that vein, I sincerely recommend Wings by apparitionism (on Ao3).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an angel receives their halo.

Her first memory was being filled with warmth and peace and _**Rise My Beloved Child**_.

She awakened, her newborn senses unfurling tentatively out to be met with welcome chorus of Hallelujahs. Their voices -her siblings, the thought delighting her- rang the Heavens with joyful peals as their souls reached out, lovingly enfolding her without reservation or hesitance. She could feel their thoughts rippling across the surface of her mind, there if she concentrated but otherwise forming a comforting background hum to her thoughts. She was now a voice within the Heavenly Choir, and they were forever part of her.

A gentle touch of pure Love brushed her and she immediately supplicated herself before the overwhelming majesty of her Creator, awestruck and small. She trembled a little before willing her spirit to solidify into an iron core of composure, poised and calm as she asked the question burning within her.

_What is Your Will?_

It seemed as though the very fabric of existence replied; supernovas flared, galaxies swelled and planets reverberated with Power.

_**You are she whom maketh happiness known to mankind.**_   
_**You are Beatrix.** _

The name glowed golden and pure, rising before her; bonds of duty settling on her brow, fusing to her soul in a blinding flash of energy and igniting her soul with purpose and love. She felt it ripple through her straight to the very core of her being, the loving benediction of her Creator. A tiny spark of her Creator’s light forever burning within her.

_**You are the guardian of My most fragile creations; love them, guide them that they may Know Me.** _

Beatrix rose, halo flaring to dazzling life as her divine wings unfurled fully for the first time. This was her duty, her sacred mission and Reason.

_As You Wish._

Her siblings sang joyfully and true, making her smile. She was blessed.

A strange tug at her soul pulled her attention towards the earthly realms, a point of light and warmth she would have been able to sense anywhere in Creation. She knew without being told what it meant.

Her duty had begun.

With a powerful flex of her newborn wings, Beatrix soared towards Earth, her light a bright spark against the skies.


	2. The Last One I Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genesis 6:1-7  
> When human beings began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of humans were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose…The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of humans and had children by them…The LORD saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. The LORD regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled. So the LORD said, “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created—and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground—for I regret that I have made them.”
> 
> How do we begin to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day. – Thomas Harris  
> We are ever striving after what is forbidden, and coveting what is denied us. - Ovid
> 
> In which Beatrix bears witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not religious, but I’ve researched bits of different religious texts I found relevant and interesting. I've based a lot of this idea on my understanding of the Books of Enoch, which focus a lot on angels called Watchers (Guardian angel) and the Fall of these angels due to their loving of humanity (plus impregnating women with half angel kids called Nephilim)  
> Having said that, this is a work of fiction, so I've used concepts and ideas with creative license without intending to offend anyone. 
> 
> P.S. keep an eye out for Mary cameo!

Beatrix is of Heaven. She is a Servant of the Almighty, brought into being from a tiny ember of Creation.

The Laws of the physical Earthly plane do not apply to her; its limited energy and wavelengths incompatible with her own. As such, her physical form is out of sync; it does not reflect light, obey gravity, or experience the passage of time in the same way her charges do. She stands outside 'natural laws', or rather, stands within them as they part around her, like a river flowing a stone.

Beatrix may as well exist in spirit only. The connection to her charges, their humanity, anchors her to the Earthly Plane. The glow of Love from her halo –a living connection to her creator- and the constant harmonious humming of her siblings in the background of her mind keeps her anchored to the Heavens.

Beatrix is content with her Purpose.

Each sunrise is greeted with wings outspread in private worship. She reaches out to the Heavenly choir of her sibling and their voices raise in joyful worship. They are together, always.

Beatrix is an observer, a faithful record-keeper and scribe. She can let her charges Feel her presence; can warm them in the blaze of her halo and let them know God’s Love. She is allowed to give them a spark of Faith; to know that they are not without Grace and have not been Forsaken. She bolsters their resolve with the strength to persevere and endure.

Here lies the sacrosanct boundary of her Heavenly mandate. Look, but do not interfere. Love, but at a distance. Weep, but be as stone.

Like stone this resolve erodes – so gradually she barely is aware of it.

Beatrix finds humanity fascinating. They are so _loud_. The frantic pace of living, the heat of emotion and sheer tenacity of the human spirit inspires her in a way she cannot explain aloud. She enjoys the childlike way they explore the Earth gifted to their care, eager to unpick every secret and discern the innermost workings. Mathematics, geography, astronomy – each piece of knowledge seized on and used as further foundation for study. Yes, Beatrix admires humanity.

She has watched over and loved each of her charges. She remembers each with perfect clarity – she has no memory, she _is_ memory; their lives eternally within her. Jacob, kind, wise and giving. Hannah, brave, headstrong and fearless. Farad, clever, funny and humble. She watches over them at their birth and follows until they stand in Judgement. She speaks of the life she has born witness to, every moment of bravery, laughter, doubt and cruelty. The invention of war and destruction, of rape and murder, are all as old as humanity themselves. She does not close her eyes to the sin, though it weighs heavily on her spirit.

Everything continues.

Until.

A murmuring stirs within the Heavenly Host, a rustle of unease and dissent. For the first time her siblings are not in total accord. Coveting begins with watching that which is forbidden. The Purpose of angels (of Beatrix) is to watch.

Her current charge is Sara, dark haired, hazel eyed and olive skinned. She is a strong woman, who works hard to support her family and still manages to make her younger brothers smile. Laughter lines crease her eyes and dimple her cheeks. Their father passed in her childhood and Sara has taken on the responsibility as head of the household. There have been suitors but Sara has chased them all away, unwilling to surrender her freedom. At night, when her family sleeps, Sara prays to God, asking for forgiveness. She doesn’t love men as she should and wishes she could take a wife herself. Beatrix feels something twist deep within her soul –sympathetic pain or what she imagines pain would feel like- and reaches out. Sara’s face, wet with tears, softens with relief as the loving warmth of Beatrix’s halo envelops her. Beatrix feels a dizzying rush of very human love rush back from Sara towards her, like a perfect circle closing. It's intoxicating and wonderful and not meant for her at all but this is her Purpose isn't it?

She believes Sara must be the loveliest of God’s creations.

The moment stays with Beatrix, preserved and tucked away where none of her siblings can stumble across it and wonder. It is a seed -only that and nothing more.

(but sometimes-)

Beatrix is not alone in her fascination with humankind.

Some of the choir begin to question their purpose. Why must they watch those they love suffer. Why must they love the wicked? Why do the good suffer without intervention? Then, perhaps most damming of all:

Why is it God who decides who is worthy of _their_ love? Why are _they_ not free to excercise free will? Why must _they_ place limits on their love for humanity?

Factions emerge.

Some long for a more intimate physical connection with their beloved charges. Some feel humanity is corrupt and beyond saving.

Beatrix listens, but remains silent as discussions rage around her, unease a new emotion she knows not how to command other than with forced stillness. She is an angel of rational and careful thought. She has watched beautiful souls snuffed out in the cruellest of ways, has seen the wicked prosper despite her guidance. But she has humanity’s beauty too. She has seen the innate beauty of Sara. It eats at the secret heart of her that she stands on the outside of humanity; that she will never touch any of her charges lives more deeply.

But is not her place to question their Creator. The Divine Plans of God are beyond their comprehension and they must trust. Is that not the teaching they are sworn to deliver to humanity? To have Faith in God’s Love?

Sara lives a good life. She loves her family, is kind, works hard and honours God in all the ways that matter. Her goodness feels like apple blossom in spring, filling the air with perfume. Sara catches a fever in the late autumn while bringing in the crops for harvest and Beatrix watches anxiously as her life-force ebbs–a tide that continues to move further and further away from the shore where Beatrix waits for her. She feels at war with her very nature as something raw and wet and painful tears at her. Sara recovers. Slowly. Her body is permently weakened, threatened by chills and the damp. She works less, food becomes scarce. There was no lesson learned, no hidden gift. Only hardship heaped on hardship.

Beatrix can barely stand to watch.

God’s Plan is _not_ for her to know, and yet.

(and yet)

Beatrix does not see the War until it has already broken upon Heaven like an angry storm, tearing her family apart. There is no middle ground, no room for peace. The ranks of the Host are torn asunder, half challenging Heaven and half just as fiercely defending. The battle was furious and shook with the sound of Heavenly trumpets and voices lifted in anger rather than prayer.

Her sister Maria joins the uprising beside Samael, their flaming swords a guiding light for the rebels’ charge. Adriel, a dark shadow on the battlefield, cuts down all who oppose him, clearing the way for their leader, Samyaza.

 _Please_ , Beatrix begs, wielding her halo against her sisters, her heart heavy with horror even as she rises to the defence of her Creator’s throne. _Please stop._ Beside her, Camille weeps sorrowful silver tears while their sister Lilith protects the rear; her bronze wings as beautifully deadly as she is furious.

The conclusion is a forgone one. How can mere angels bring down the One who breathed Life into All?

Beatrix’s horror grows as she watches God's edict rain down upon the defeated bowed angels.

Her beloved siblings Fall, _Fall,_ their halos ripped from them and cast down from the only home they have ever had. Their voices are forever silenced from the choir and she feels the bloody stump of their absence in her mind like an open wound. Beatrix weeps with her sisters; heart shattered in more ways than the loss of her beloved siblings.

Then God sends forth the floods to purge humanity of sin and destroy any trace of the half-angel children left on the Earth.

Beatrix watches the waters swell and rise to swallow the land like a ravenous dragon. The lovingly tended fields disappear from view, the desperate struggling of the milk cows eventually cease. She feels Sara’s fear pulse panicky and sharp through their bond, confused and desperate for survival. She can barely bring herself to reach out, sooth the last moments of her (precious, _beloved_ ) last charge with the calming sense that this is not the end, that all will be well, that she is not alone. Beatrix feels the helpless pain of her remaining siblings as voices call unknowingly out to them, begging for salvation and forgiveness. For the first time since Creation, the Heavenly host is silent and still as they bear witness to the death of their whole world.

Beatrix too, watches as her most secret wish dies with it.

_All my life I've tried to fit in_   
_And it's been hard given the colour of my skin_   
_But that's okay because I know_   
_That in a thousand years or so_   
_There will be love, there'll be enough love to cushion all the falls_   
_And wistful thinking never stopped us from wanting it all_

_But I'm not sure just how much more of this I can bear_   
_I try to talk to God but it seems even he doesn't care_   
_I've seen the new one he's building, and my, how he's made not one mistake_   
_He told me, 'son, I promise you this one will be so much better than the last one I made'_

_As I walk through the valley of death, I am alone, I am alone_   
_And all those words that you once said, they no longer take me home_   
_As I walk through the valley of death, I am alone, I am alone_   
_And all those words that you once said, they no longer take me home_   
_I am alone, I am alone, I am alone_

_And I don't know how much longer I can wait_   
_He told me, 'son, I promise you this one will be so much better than the last one_   
_It will be so much better than the last one I made'_

~ The Last One I Made (Pim Stones)


	3. Sing To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ecclesiastes 3:2   
> A time to give birth and a time to die;  
> A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.
> 
> In which Beatrix meets her newest charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments, I really appreciate them all.  
> I'm glad people are enjoying this experiment!

There are no premonitions, no foreshadowing when Beatrix feels that familiar tug on her soul that heralds her newest charge being born. The trumpets of Heaven do not sound, her halo does not alight in flames and no shockwaves rip the atmosphere in a thunderous crack.

Beatrix merely arcs towards the Earth, haloed wings spread wide in imitation of a bird catching thermals and _feels_ the thread tethering her soul to her charge, letting it guide her flight.

She alights in a place where a woman, red faced and breathing heavily, is kneeling on a bed. A team of doctors offer encouragement and instruction. Beatrix watches, taking in the ingenious humanity-made machinery, its beeping allowing them to track the life-force of mother and child. She feels the unborn girl, impatient and eager to greet the world. _Peace_ , she sends, though the child cannot understand her. _You will be here soon._ The mother gives one last screaming yell and something shifts-

There.

A blood covered girl-child, already squalling her tiny lungs out as she greets the world. The mother slumps back, spent. Beatrix reaches out before she can think better of it, her halo sending a tiny pulse of _welcome_ through their bond. The babe’s cries pause, her face relaxing from tightly screwed-up screaming to form a loose ‘o’ of surprise.

“I think she surprised herself with her voice,” someone laughs and cuts the last physical connection of mother to child, then quickly weighs and checks reflexes before passing her to the mother, tightly swaddled.

“Hello Ava,” the mother says, a bright, exhausted smile on her face as she gazes down at her daughter.

Beatrix watches. The connection between them thrums with warmth and life. For an endless moment, Beatrix sees Ava’s life stretch out before her; burning brightly as a supernova and just as suddenly winking out, leaving only an after-image in her heart and traces of stardust. And Beatrix just watching. Again. Forever. Until the End.

Something awful and unnamed strikes like the taste of lightning, ozone and charring, uncoiling as though to tear itself free. Beatrix wrestles it, beats it down, commands it to submit and be still, then binds it in silver chains and drops it down into the deepest, darkest, crevasse in her soul.

Some things should not enter the light.

Much of Ava’s early life is unremarkable: her mother loving and attentive, father absent, no other family. Ava is an inquisitive child, always in motion and exploring _everything_. Beatrix thinks she is hungry for experience. It almost softens the angel towards her charge. But Beatrix has learned to chill the core of her heart when watching her charges. The Fall, the flood, the death of Sara, of the Earth. For a being who stands outside time, these events reverberate within her like never-ending aftershocks.

The angels who remain within the Host are frozen in a state of perpetual mourning, wounded and confused. Their Creator withdraws and it feels as if a veil has been drawn over the sun, muting colour and heat. All they have is their Purpose and each other.

So Beatrix watches, keeps watching all her charges, but holds herself apart. This latest girl is no different. Ava is happy and content as a child and Beatrix is not needed. She smiles, throws tantrums safe in the knowledge of her mother’s love and lives carefree and without fear. It is a relief to have a charge who doesn’t pull at her soul, doesn’t require her to open her heart any wider than strictly necessary.

Though she has no gift of foresight, Beatrix is completely unprepared for when the accident happens.

It is a day like any other.

Ava’s mother is driving with Ava perched happily in the passenger seat beside her. A large articulated lorry appears. Its wheels catch on loose gravel. Beatrix sees the white of the driver’s eyes as he fights with the wheel. She smells burning rubber, watches the trajectory that it will have to take according to the laws of physics. She sees everything almost exactly as it is happening and yet she is completely powerless.

Fear pierces Beatrix to her core; a startling surge of intense _feeling_. Without conscious thought, her halo blazes to life and her wings instinctively stretch out to envelop the tiny child in a hopeless facsimile of protection.

The impact of the lorry crumples the car as casually as the shrugging of tectonic plates and Beatrix senses the light of Ava’s mother instantly die. A sympathetic ripple from Ava sends shocks through their connection as the girl is rendered unconscious. It is a kindness perhaps, that she is not aware of the destruction of her life.

She can still feel Ava. Her unconscious body limp and crumpled beside the lifeless body of her mother. Whilst in motion, it is easier to overlook Ava’s size. She seems larger-than-life and impervious. At rest, it is obvious: Ava is a small child. Fragile. Broken.

Amidst the devastation on a quiet road, Beatrix watches. Birds sing, the sun shines carelessly and the world, the Heavens all radiate supreme indifference to the tragedy laid out before her.

A wordless roaring fills her, blotting out thought, and something, already splintered and cracked in her soul, fractures even more.

A secret, hidden part of her heart speaks up, whispering blasphemy:

_Is this truly God’s Plan?_

_I prayed, I prayed, God sent me right to voicemail_

_It's like, all day my vanity is for sale_

_Take it away, my head is in my own hell_  
  


_Sing to me, I am not doing well_

_Getting tired of my own words_

_Sing to me, 'cause I can't hear myself_

_Through the loudness of my own hurts_

_Call me selfish when I say this, say this_

_I'm kinda helpless, and I need you_

_Sing to me, 'cause I'm not doing well_

_~_ Sing To Me (MISSIO)


End file.
